Mom just brought me a chewable calcium supplement. Two, actually. “One for later,” she said, because Jason told her that Dr. Oz said somewhere that we can only absorb so much calcium at one time, so we need to take it in two doses. I am terrible at remembering to take vitamins, but I’m even more terrible at them ever since Jason began a sentence (with only the best of intentions) with, “You know, in terms of calcium, once a woman reaches thirty-five…” I hit mute, rewind, delete, deny.

I kind of walk around all day right now with this low-level, stomach-knot anxiety. Part of it must come from me being unable to do anything that feels like actual exercise. I can’t skate, I can’t go for a run, I can’t even go for a twenty-minute walk without regretting it later. So I sit. I sit and wait. I wait for word on the upfronts. Any minute now we find out the fate of Romantically Challenged. I’m under contract there, which means I can only do so much alternate planning in case the show goes from hiatus to cancelled. With the publication of Going in Circles I am finished with my contract, and I’m now writing chapters that will end up in a book proposal. I’ve also written up a pitch for an hour-long tv show based on a novel I love, love, love, but I’m waiting on notes from my agent… who is busy with upfronts. I meet tomorrow with the studio I’m creating a half-hour pitch with this development season, which means I’m waiting to find out what project I’ll ultimately be pitching with them. I’m waiting on responses for a few other possibles here and there. All good things, if only a “YES” would come back. I’m waiting. I’m writing. I’m waiting. And I’m closely monitoring my dwindling savings account.

Yesterday my mother accompanied me to physical therapy. She assumed it would be like in the movies, with me grasping parallel bars as some pretty girl helped me take my first steps, and I’m all sweating and groaning, trying to suffer through the pain. Like I’m a hero. When she saw it was mostly stretching and balancing, I bet she was a little disappointed. She did have to watch me torture myself on a foam roller. This is when she watched me rolling on the floor, moaning in pain, and asked, “How is this possibly worth it?”

I cannot believe how much I miss skating until I collapse. I am shocked at how much I miss running five miles. I suppose it’s only natural to take these things for granted. When you’re in that kind of physical exhaustion, you don’t normally stop and go, “I’m so lucky that lady just forced me to skate until I almost puked.” And I really truly miss my derby friends.

So I’m waiting and writing and using four kinds of social networking sites to distract me from the fact that there’s not much else I can do right now but wait and write and heal. BORING. Those social networking sites show me that the teams have been made for next month’s baby doll brawl. It would have been my fifth. Watching them team up with excitement makes me feel a little sad. I know what fun I’m missing, but I don’t have a choice.

Jason just walked by, smiling with approval that I ate a calcium supplement. This is my team. Team Healing, the group that deals with my physical therapy, my vitamin supplements, my slow walks and pep talks that usually end with, “You’re still cute even if you can’t wear heels.”

That didn’t stop me from buying a pair of shoes yesterday that I probably won’t be able to wear for longer than fifteen minutes for the next three months. Because when you’re waiting to hear if you’ve got a job, sometimes the only thing that seems to make you feel better is spending money you probably should hang onto.

[PS: It looks like I’ve got confirmed dates for book events in DC (June 19th!) and Baltimore (July 24th!) (more info to come). There are other dates and places, but for them I’m still waiting. Writing and waiting.]

[edited to add: canceled.]

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